Harry Is The Best Hope We Have.

But I Was The Most Unashamed Lone Parent You Were Ever Going To Meet.

Of Course Not,” Said Hermione. “everything We Need Is Here On This Paper.

I Am The Freest Author In The World.

Harry Felt Winded, As Though He Had Just Walked Into Something Heavy. He Had Last Seen Those Cool Gray Eyes Through Slits In A Death Eater’s Hood, And Last Heard That Man’s Voice Jeering In A Dark Graveyard While Lord Voldemort Tortured Him. He Could Not Believe That Lucius Malfoy Dared Look Him In The Face; He Could Not Believe That He Was Here, In The Ministry Of Magic, Or That Cornelius Fudge Was Talking To Him, When Harry Had Told Fudge Mere Weeks Ago That Malfoy Was A Death Eater.

I Have To Write The Story I Want To Write. I Never Wrote Them With A Focus Group Of 8-year-olds In Mind. I Have To Continue Telling The Story The Way I Want To Tell It.